The Warden’s Son

Jared Wolf
Chapter 1
June 2008
Bhanu Sihgnsat quietly behind the cash register at the convenient store that his family
owned. He looked at the bright red numbers on the dusty VCR under the counter. It was
10:18pm. The shop had been vacant for a short while, but Bhanu occupied his time by flipping
through a newspaper he grabbed out of the rack by the automatic front doors.
Apparently, the previous day had been quite eventful. Three senior citizens were found
stoned in a burning building. One of the senior’s unnamed grandsons, who had been living at the
home, had a large stash of marijuana hidden by the furnace in a paper bag. Then, another
octogenarian woman turned up the heat, thus lighting the bag on fire filling the home with
intoxicating smoke.
Another article was describing the intense drama of the upcoming 2008 presidential
election. The media was swarming around how the predicted democratic nomination would
either be a black man or a white woman. Obama or Clinton? The republicans, however, had all
of the stereotypical old white guys just inching past each in the polls.
Bhanuwas a fifty three year old Indian immigrant. He had silver, neatly parted to the
right. His dark brown face had wrinkled along his forehead and his mouth which framed his
white mustache. He wore a maroon checkered cotton shirt, tucked into a pair of navy corduroy
pants, finished with a pair of black leather shoes.
He was about to begin restocking the soda in the back of the store when his attention was
refocused to a small speaker above the front door. It made an electronic tone, similar to a
doorbell. A man walked through the sliding doors.
He was much taller than Bhanu, but then again Bhanuwas only five foot four. The black
man looked to be about six foot one, maybe six foot two. Bhanucould see how muscular his
body was under his black short sleeved t-shirt. It had a grey face printed on the front. Sylvester
Stallone, no, Al Pacino. Bhanu didn’t keep up with all of the Hollywood movies, so it might as
well have been Robin Williams.
As the customer walked by, Bhanucould hear loud rap music blaring from the man’s
headphones. The man was mindlessly mumbling the words to the song.
Bhanu’sfocus didn’t leave the man for several minutes. The customer walked through the
aisles, grabbing a bag of chips and some sodas. All the while Bhanu kept his hand on a handgun
on the first shelf under the counter.
He wasn’t going to be held up by some gang banger, not tonight. Not again. He had
worked too hard to bring his wife and children to this country and he didn’t bring them here just
to be bullied by society.
A second time the electronic speaker resonated as a second customer walked in. This guy
he felt much better about. He was a white guy in his mid thirties. He was wearing jeans and a
black windbreaker. He walked right past Bhanu, taking a quick glance before continuing to the
refrigerated beverages.
The black customer walked up to the counter and set down a few bags of sour cream and
onion chips and four cans of Red Bull. Bhanu reluctantly lifted his hand off of the gun and
began punching numbers into the cash register.
“Sixteen fifty four.” He said. The man reached behind him. Bhanuquickly grabbed his
gun again. He almost felt guilty of his suspicion, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. The
man pulled out several folded twenties, setting one on the counter. Bhanu gave the man his
change, glad that he was about to leave. The man began to walk out when he heard the white
customer’s voice from behind him.
“Don’t leave yet.” His voice was strange. The man turned around wondering why this
guy was bothering him. The white man walked in front of Bhanu, but still faced the other
customer.
“What do you want, man?” the black man asked annoyed. The white man never
answered. Instead he reached into his windbreaker and pulled out a gun. Still looking at the
black man, he lifted the gun to his side, pointing it directly at Bhanu. Before Bhanu even had a
chance to grab his own gun, the man fired four shots right into Bhanu’s chest.
He collapsed onto the floor. He tried to take a breath, but began coughing. He tasted his
own warm blood and felt drops of it run down the side of his face. There were no more shots, no
more words; just silence and an intense burning that seemed to be coming from his entire body.
He knew this would be his last moments on earth.
He quickly tried to picture his wife and his four children, three daughters and a son.
Finally it was over, and he didn’t hurt anymore. He had left this world.
“Better run.” The killer told the other man, whose eyes were wide and afraid. He
dropped the potato chips and soda and bolted out of the door, just as the killer had planned. This
wasn’t about money, or some vengeful resentment towards the cashier. This was bigger than
either of those two could understand. It had begun.
Chapter 2
May 1976
The relentless pounding at her front door had finally gotten out of hand. Rosalyn moaned as
she forced herself off her couch and walked out of the living room out to the front door. Each
thud grew louder as the pounding continued.
Rosalyn looked through the dining room at the clock on the kitchen microwave. It was
11:16p.m. Who had the nerve to bother her at this hour? She wondered.
Thud, thud, thud.
Rosalyn peered through the window on the side of her door, but only saw the cement stairs
leading down to the rain covered city streets. Whoever this person was, they were standing too
close to the door to be seen.
She wasn’t going to put up with any late night sales men or Jehovah’s Witnesses tonight.
Thud, thud, thud.
The old, loose metal doorknob rattled with each hit. Finally she opened the door, surprised to
see a familiar face before her. Roger was a thirty-something African American man. She knew
him from the local hardware store, where he worked, but more recently as the six month
boyfriend of her best friend Sheryl.
He was a tall stringy man, though it was hard to tell due to the heavy brown trench coat he
was wearing. He had prematurely graying hair, but it was still in the ‘salt and pepper’ stage. But
his most outstanding features were his eyes and his smile, both soft, but both very kind.
He quickly admired Rosalyn’s model good looks, the kind of beauty usually hidden
somewhere deep in the heart of Africa, before taking another step forward, allowing the light
from inside to reach his face.
“Roger? What are you doing here?” She asked, puzzled by her unexpected visitor.
“I, uh.”He paused and smiled awkwardly. “Actually, I need a place to stay.” He gazed into
Rosalyn’s eyes, and before she even had a chance to think about it, she had made up her mind.
Roger had mastered using his eyes and smile to sway people, part of the reason he was such a
skilled sales clerk.
 “I didn’t notice the bed and breakfast sing in front of my house. Tell me why I should let you
stay here?” She knew that she sounded harsh but they both knew she would end up letting him
in.
“Sheryl and I got into a fight. She kindakicked me out. I know she’ll cool down, she didn’t
throw any appliances at me.” He paused. “I just need a night or two. Then I’m gone. Scout’s
honor.” He held up the three middle fingers on his hand, imitating a boy scout.
Rosalyn silently moved away from the doorway, allowing him to enter her urban apartment.
“Shoes!” she warned as he began to walk into the house, leaving wet, dirty footprints on the
hardwood floor. He smiled warmly at her then glanced down as he kicked off his rain saturated
loafers onto a small brown mat, next to an inexpensive pair of heels.
“And jacket.” Roger wordlessly complied, hanging his coat on a wooden coat rack behind
the door. “Make yourself at home, Rog.”
Rosalyn strolled through the living room back into the kitchen and fixed herself a mug of
steaming hot chocolate. She walked back into the living room.
“Hey Roger, do you want…” but she didn’t bother finishing her sentence. Roger was already
spread out in all directions on the couch, fast asleep.
This is what I get for opening my home to somebody. She thought sarcastically. Not even a
bit of small talk and he’s already stolen my TV seat.
She took a small sip of the sweet hot chocolate before walking over to the television.
It was already late, and she really should watch television at this hour. Walter Cronkite was
doing a brief segment, marking the sixth anniversary of the Kent State Shootings in Ohio.
Rosalyn turned the knob beside the screen and the reporters face disappeared in an evanescent
white light. Then the entire apartment was dark, but Rosalyn had no trouble finding her way up
the creaky stairs to her bedroom.
Thank God tomorrow is Sunday. I really need this day off from work. Ooh! And I get
Monday off too. She remembered, thinking about the painters would be coming in on Monday,
and the restaurant where she worked would be closed. She smiled happily as her eyelids gently
fell as her head sank into the pillow.
Chapter 3
Rosalyn dozed in a trance between dreams and consciousness, the ultimate feeling of
relaxation. It was a sunny Monday morning, closer to afternoon. It was already 10:22 in the
morning. Rosalyn couldn’t remember the last time she had slept this late, not for months. She
rolled over, letting the sun coming through the window hit her bare back.
In what only seemed like seconds the radio turned on and calming jazz resonated through the
speakers. It was already 10:30. Rosalyn had always set the alarm on weekends, ever optimistic
that she would one day be asleep long enough to use it. But today was one of the rare occasions
where she could.
Roger had been out for most of the day on Sunday, at work at the hardware store. Today he
would be downstairs though. His shift on Mondays was 2:00 to midnight. Rosalyn got out of
bed and wrapped herself in a fuzzy royal blue bathrobe, one of the few nice and not previously
owned things she owned.
She made her way downstairs to find Roger sitting on the couch, watching the morning news.
He only had on a white undershirt, speckled with little green fuzzes from sleeping on the couch.
He also had on denim jeans and a pair of socks that looked like they had been walked in for the
better part of the century. This is probably what she had slept in that night.
“Hey Rog.” She mumbled as she walked behind him, towards the kitchen.
“Good morning, sleepy.” He teased.
 “I’m usually not this much of a sloth.” She went into the kitchen and opened a cabinet.
“You want some coffee?” she said loud enough so he could hear from the other room.
“I already went out earlier. I would have grabbed you some but I didn’t want to wake you.
Thank you though.”
Roger was such a charmer. Even with Sheryl’s leash around his neck, he still was
uncommonly polite to Rosalyn. Who said chivalry was dead. Rosalyn wondered how he and
Sheryl could have gotten into a fight so awful that she would kick him out.
Rosalyn hadn’t talked with her friend about the issue yet, and Roger only mentioned that
there was a fight. He had insisted that Rosalyn not call, just give Sheryl some time to cool down.
But she didn’t want to just ignore her friend either. It was very conflicting. Ignoring her
would mean she was being a bad friend, but how would Sheryl react if Rosalyn told her that she
had taken Roger in? Would she get the cold shoulder as well? She would have to find out about
Roger sooner or later. The sooner, the better. She decided
“I’m going to go over and see how Sheryl’s doing in a little bit.” She said to Roger as she
walked back into the living room.
“Please, Rosalyn. I really don’t think that’s such a good idea.” He said quickly.
“I want her to know that I’m there for her. She’s like a sister to me.” She put on as much of
a sad puppy dog face as she could without being overly obvious. Roger let out a heavy sigh.
“Listen. I’ll go over there tomorrow and see if I can straighten things out. If I can’t, I’ve got
a friend one town over who’ll let me stay with him.”
“It’s not that I want you to leave. I just want everything to be okay again.”
Rosalyn spent a few hours cleaning the house, dusting and vacuuming. As she was running
the vacuum along the runner in the first floor hallway she heard a noise. She turned off the
machine in her hand, letting the roar turn into a gentle hum, and then into silence and listened
again. For a moment there was nothing, then, just as she was about to resume her cleaning, there
was a knock at the door.
Rosalyn opened it, not sure of whom she should expect, but the police were definitely not on
the list.
But there they were. Three white officers dressed in solid blue uniforms, complete with
badges and all. There was one standing right by the door, a short, rather hefty man with very
short brown hair. His name tag read ‘Officer Peter Storrs’. The other two looked like they could
have been brothers. Both were very tall, at least 6’2”. One had jet black hair and the other had
red hair, barely visible under his police cap.
“Can I help you, officer?” Rosalyn asked, pulling the sides of her bathrobe closer together in
an attempt to cover herself up. She was about as confused as she could be right now. She hadn’t
seen anything, and she knew she hadn’t done anything. So why were they here?
“Ma’am.”The heavy officer began. “We are looking for a Mr. Roger England. We were
informed that he might be staying at this residence.” The policeman’s stare was so focused that
it was almost like he were telepathically pushing her.
“Hey Roger.”Rosalyn called back into the house. “Can you come here for a second?”
A moment later he emerged from the living room, wearing black dress pants and a dress shirt
only buttoned down halfway. He was still barefoot. He was halfway down the hall, still trying
to tie his tie, when he saw who was at the door.
His eyes opened wide and he stood paralyzed for only a second before he ripped off his tie
and bolted backwards towards the kitchen. Rosalyn jumped backwards as well, going through
the dining room. They arrived simultaneously. Rosalyn tried to jump in front of him to stop, or
at least slow him, but he pushed her back.
 Her skull cracked against the corner of a cabinet. Before she knew it, she was down on her
knees, holding the back of her head in agony. She didn’t even hear the sound of the screen door
slamming behind Roger as he raced into the small, fenced in, back yard.
Officer Storrs rushed past her, as did the officer with the red hair. The black haired officer,
however, stopped and knelt beside her, putting his hand gently on her shoulder. “Are you alright,
ma’am?”
Rosalyn let out a pain filled sigh. “I don’t know.” She paused for a moment. “Why…do
you want Roger?”
“We have reason to believe that he is connected with a murder.” The officer informed her.
A murder? That can’t be possible. Roger would never kill anybody. He couldn’t. It wasn’t
in him.
“What murder?” Rosalyn mumbled.
“The body of a woman was found in an apartment yesterday afternoon.” He said. “Her name
was Sheryl Fox.”
Chapter 4
Roger had barely made it over the rusty chain-link fence, separating Rosalyn and her
neighbor’s back yards, when he heard the footsteps of the police rushing down the wooden stairs,
chasing him.
“Stop!Police!” one of them shouted, but Roger darted into another yard as quickly as he
could without looking back. Hopefully he could make it to the other end of the block without
getting caught. After that, he might just be able to hide. He was pretty sure he could outrun the
policeman, or policemen.
He continued through another yard, past a plastic children’s slide and some patio furniture.
His feet began to hurt. He had almost forgotten that he wasn’t wearing any shoes.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.Roger thought as he sprinted as fast as possible across a
street into more yards. I never meant for this to happen. I didn’t mean to hit her that hard. I
didn’t even want to hit her.
He recalled the fight that he and Sheryl were having. She was saying that he just sponged off
of her, repeatedly calling him a freeloader, just because his hours had been reduced at the
hardware store and he couldn’t pay for as much.
She shrieked at him to earn more money or get out and he just lost it and shoved her
backwards. She lost her footing and went down, hitting her head sideways on the coffee table.
The sound of her neck breaking had been haunting him for the last three days. He didn’t
know how he had been able to act so natural, even though he honestly felt like he was going
mad.
He wasn’t sure how far he had run, but he was becoming worn out, and his feet were killing
him. But he couldn’t give up. He wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life in a jail cell
somewhere because of an accident.
He pushed as far as he could go. His legs felt like they were literally on fire, and the dark
dress pants cooking them weren’t helping much.
Finally he couldn’t go any further. And he stopped, for the first time, and looked backwards.
One redheaded officer was getting very close. Another heavier officer wasn’t far behind. Now
was the moment of truth. And Roger’s last resort.
Chapter 5
Officer Timothy Moore was only about a hundred feet behind the suspect, Roger England.
He was taken aback by the way the man could run, even on pavement, without any shoes.
I guess it’s different for him. He thought. I’m running for my job. He’s running for his life.
 He continued to chase the suspect across several streets and through countless yards,
undoubtedly surprising anybody who happened to be outside at the time.
Suddenly the suspect slowed down to a jog, then a few steps walking, before coming to a
complete stop on the sidewalk of a residential street, half hidden behind a banged up pickup
truck. Moore didn’t know what to expect next, but he seriously doubted that the suspect was
going to give up, just like that.
“Put your hands above your head!” Moore called, trying hard not to sound too out of breath,
but this guy had given him a good run.
The suspect wasn’t looking directly at Moore, but in his general direction. The man ducked
behind the red pickup and disappeared from sight. Even the man’s feet were hidden behind the
back right wheel or the vehicle.
“Come out with your hands up.” He had never said that before. He had always imagined
that he would feel like some hotshot cop like in the movies, but there was so much adrenalin
pumping through his body that he couldn’t think about anything but what this man was about to
do.
Suddenly there was a flash and a bang from just above the bed of the pickup. A gunshot.
Then another. Moore ducked behind a car on the opposite side of the street. By the time he was
safely guarded five blind shots had been fired.
He looked up at the two-family house he was in front of. A mother was rushing inside with
her infant daughter. The young Hispanic woman let out a scream, more of a whimper really as
she slammed the wooden door behind her. There was a bullet hole in the wood of the doorframe.
Either of those two people could have just been killed. And there were still others that were still
in danger. That’s when Officer Moore upholstered his own gun and cocked it.
“EVERYBODY. GET INSIDE!” Moore shouted.
Three more shots were fired, and then a pause. Moore stood up and moved towards the
vehicle. He walked over by the driver’s door where the suspect wouldn’t be firing.
He saw the man’s black handinch over the edge of the car, gun drawn and aimed at where
Officer Moore had been only seconds ago. Moore took aim and shot, getting a good hit just
above the wrist. The suspect wouldn’t be shooting with that hand anymore. He heard the man
cry out in pain.
Silently Moore moved around the back of the pickup, gun drawn and facing the suspect. He
also had his gun drawn, but in his left hand. The suspect’s right arm was covered in crimson
blood that was now flowing down onto the beige sidewalk. His left hand, holding the gun, was
shaking. Suddenly Moore heard a gunshot. He looked down to see if he was hit, but he didn’t
see or feel anything. He knew that he didn’t pull the trigger of his gun. So who was it?
The suspect looked straight at Moore for a moment and then collapsed backwards. Officer
Storrs stepped out from behind a car about sixty feet away, gun drawn. Storrs just saved my life.
Moore thought, looking at the suspect.
People who had been peeking through their windows were now emerging from their homes
to see the aftermath of the shootout. Gasps were taken and eyes widened when everybody
realized that Roger England was dead.
Chapter 6
“What?” Rosalyn asked. “I’m sorry, I think I misheard you.” She prayed intensely that she
had.
“We have reason to believe that Mr. England is related to the death of a Ms. Sheryl Fox. I’m
sorry. Did you know her?”
 Rosalyn didn’t answer. She didn’t even hear anything after her best friend’s name. All at
once her entire body ached. It almost felt as if her heart had completely stopped and gone into
overdrive in the same moment.
It felt as if she had been thrown into an arctic sea. Every part of her body began to sting
wildly, but nothing and nobody could save her. It was impossible to save her from that
knowledge.
Sheryl, Rosalyn’s best friend was dead. There was no chance to even say goodbye. It was so
unreal. Rosalyn curled up her legs and wrapped both arms around them, creating her own
cocoon.
The officer instantly noticed a few drops of blood fall from her ring finger. He leaned back
and was that the hair on the back of her head was matted down with blood from where Roger had
shoved her back.
“Jesus. This’ll need some stitches.” Rosalyn didn’t pay him any attention. He stood up and
looked around the kitchen, grabbing some paper towels off of a roll by the sink. Then he went
into the freezer and grabbed half a dozen ice cubes and made an improvised ice pack which he
put onto her head. For a moment Rosalyn didn’t seem to notice, but a few seconds later she
reached up and held the ice against her head, tears still tumbling down her cheeks like an
avalanche of snow down an icy mountain.
“Now Ma’am,” the officer said. “Ma’am!” he raised his voice enough to snap her attention
to him. Rosalyn looked up. “Are you Rosalyn Evans?” Without a word she nodded ‘yes’.
“Can you hear me alright? Any blurred vision? Dizziness?” he questioned without breaking
eye contact with Rosalyn. She nodded ‘no’ this time.
“Ah.” Rosalyn began but her voice broke off. She took in a deep gasp then exhaled in
several pants. “I’m a little dizzy.”
“Alright, we’ll have you checked out. Now I need to ask you one more question. It’s very
important that you answer honestly. Just look me straight in the eye.” He paused to assure that
she was doing what he asked. Once she finally gathered enough composure to look at him, he
continued. “Did you have any idea that Mr. England was in any kind of trouble with the law?”
“No.” she honestly replied.
“Ms. Evans. I’m going to make sure that you do not get into any trouble for what happened
over the past couple days, but right now, I need to take you to the police station. There is a
warrant for your arrest for aiding and abetting.”
“Wait…” her voice was strained. “I’m being arrested. What did I do wrong? I got my god
damn head cracked open for trying to stop somebody for you and found out that my best friend
was killed by the man I’ve pitied for the past few days. And now what? I’m going to prison?”
“You hid Mr. England. You’re an accomplice. At least that’s the way the law sees it. I’ll
make sure you don’t do time though, but right now I need to take you back to the station. Trust
me. If you just do exactly what you’re told, without any argument, everyone will be a lot more
willing to be lenient and forgiving with you.”
Rosalyn was much too emotionally warn out to argue with the officer. She stood up and
followed him to the front door. As they walked through the hallway, Rosalyn noticed the
vacuum on the side of the hallway, thinking about how it was the last thing she had done before
this nightmare had started, or at least, the last thing she did before she knew it was a nightmare.
The two police cars parked outside of the house had drawn a few spectators who were poking
their heads out of second story windows, hoping to be the first with the new gossip in town. It
was humiliating to walk down the front steps wearing nothing but a bathrobe, being escorted by
a cop nonetheless.
 “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a
court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot
afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand?” He said as he opened
the back door of the cruiser.
“Yes.” She mumbled as she slid into the fake leather back seat, still clutching the ice to her
skull. The door closed with a thud and suddenly the rest of the world felt…left behind somehow,
like there was no returning from this point.
The car slowly pulled out onto the street and Rosalyn’s home disappeared behind the corner.
Rosalyn could see the sidewalk that Roger must have taken to her house immediately following
his dark deed.
She felt so betrayed, and so lonely. How could Roger come to her, his victim’s best friend,
and hope for hospitality? How could he look her in the eye and have no problem putting her in
such a situation? How could he push her into the cabinet like he did after opening her home to
him? It was inhuman.
Normally, Rosalyn would talk to Sheryl about this kind of drama in her life, but she wasn’t
there anymore. Rosalyn had to keep reminding herself of that. Never again could she confess
any of life’s problems to her friend, nor could she offer an ear for Sheryl.
Just then, the cruiser passed a tall brick building that stretched along the entire block. Along
the side of the building there were windows and small balconies that hung above one another.
Although they were all eerily identical, it didn’t take more than a second or two to spot which
apartment had been Sheryl’s. Suddenly, the entire world felt colder. It was a terrorizing thought
that Sheryl Fox had died behind those very windows.
Rosalyn had to turn away. She didn’t want to hurt, didn’t want to feel anything. She just
wanted to feel numb.
Chapter 7
November 1976
It was a rainy day, only six months after Roger died. It had looked almost bright for a while
after what happened, all things considered. Unfortunately, Officer Rocco, the policeman who
had stopped to help her in her kitchen, wasn’t able to keep his promise.
The court case didn’t last long, and her state appointed lawyer had helped her as little as he
could. He often made stupid mistakes like forgetting the timeline of the events that unfolded
over those three days.
Then of course there was the judge, an old white man who went all fire and brimstone on
Rosalyn. Despite the fact that Rosalyn did not know the circumstances under which she was
keeping Roger, she still received an all expense paid trip to Fall River County Prison.
As Rosalyn looked up at the four story grey tower, she ached in knowing that she would be
living here for the next four years of her life. But, unlike the Rosalyn that had wept in the back
of the police cruiser, she had finally forced herself to become numb.
She was, along with seven other women on the bus, escorted by guards down a muddy dirt
driveway, drowned under an inch and a half of rainwater.
Once inside the dry, but equally gray and cold, Rosalyn were checked in, given her uniform,
and brought to the cell where she would spend almost half of a decade.
Chapter 8
The dining hall was almost done clearing out. Rosalyn had slowed her pace down, allowing
everyone else out before her, as she did almost every day, not out of courtesy. Any politeness
didn’t go anywhere in this place. Rosalyn was staying back because this was the sunniest room
in the entire prison.
 Twenty five foot tall windows rose from the ceilings allowing warm light from the orange
setting sun to come inside. This was Rosalyn’s brief escape from this hell. Just a few seconds of
near silence, where she was almost alone, with the exception of a dozen or so silent guards that
might as well have not existed so long as there wasn’t any trouble.
Rosalyn savored the last few moments of tingling sunlight before she passed two guards on
either side of a pair of black metal double doors. Then she heard a voice call from behind her.
“Hold on there just one minute.” The voice echoed through the cafeteria as if it were an opera
house. The man’s voice spoke very slowly.
For a moment, Rosalyn continued to migrate with the herd of inmates, until she caught the
eye of one of the guards at the door. The man just stared at her for a second, and then jerked his
head back towards the cafeteria.
Rosalyn turned around to see the Warden of the prison standing in by the kitchen doors. She
had only recognized him from when he had made a brief statement two weeks ago when he
addressed the new inmates.
He was a slightly hefty, but very strong man. It looked like he could have been a football
player in high school. He was dressed in khaki pants and a pine green dress shirt tucked in. He
had on a pair of reflective sunglasses and a beige Stetson hat covering his well oiled blonde hair.
“Yes, you.”He called again. The Warden took the cigarette hanging out of his mouth and
dropped it on the floor and crushed the butt with the soul of his foot as Rosalyn walked back
towards him.
“Yes, Mr. Diggory.” She asked.
“If you would follow me.” He instructed as he exhaled his last smoke-filled breath.
“Yes sir.” She followed him through a different set of double doors that led into the kitchen
where eight or nine other inmates were working, scrubbing dishes and hosing down large silver
pots and pans.
All motion ceased once the other women took notice of his presence. The only sound there
was, was that of the icy air conditioning pumping in cold air through a vent in the ceiling.
“Out.”He said quietly. The other women were frozen in their places. “Now! Back to your
cells!” he boomed, and suddenly the kitchen was filled with the sound of silverware and plates
landing on top of one another, then a rapid succession of footsteps hurrying towards the exit from
where he and Rosalyn had just entered.
Finally, the swinging doors halted, leaving only Rosalyn and the Warden in the room. The
Warden looked at the kitchen, as if to suck up the emptiness in the area. Then he turned back to
face Rosalyn.
“Pull down your pants.” The Warden said and a loathsome smile stretched across his face.
“I’m sorry sir. I don’t think I caught that right.” Rosalyn knew exactly what he said, but for
some reason it was like hitting rewind on a movie and expecting a difference, but that was a level
of optimism that Rosalyn could not reach.
“You heard me. I said Pull. Down. Your. Pants.” Each word made Rosalyn want to break
into tears, but she wasn’t going to show any weakness.
Rosalyn did what she was told and pulled the elastic waistband from her hips to her ankles.
He took off his Stetson and set it down on a metal counter. He then began to unzip his pants.
Rosalyn didn’t look at him, even when he pushed her half naked body against the cold tiles on
the wall. He had her trapped between a sink and a cabinet. Caged in, like an animal.
She wanted to force herself to become numb again, but even in the unusually cold room,
numb was an unachievable sensation. Rosalyn could feel everything. She could even feel the
minute curves on his icy skin as he ran both hands up her legs.
 It all finally became real when he thrust himself inside of her for the first time. Then he did it
again. And again. It went on for a few more minutes, but it felt like hours. Rosalyn had
absorbed every single detail of what had happened. His rhythmic breathing, the smell of
tobacco, his hands held tightly around her wrists.
When he finally finished, he only stepped back a few inches to zip up his pants again. He
donned his Stetson and reached into his back pocket where he pulled out a crushed pack of
cigarettes. He lit one and took a deep breath. Then he leaned in so close, that his nose was
practically touching Rosalyn’s.
“If you tell anybody about this” he began, pouring the mouthful of smoke directly into
Rosalyn’s face. “I mean anybody, I will kill you.”
“Besides.”He chuckled, “who would believe you. You’re nothing here. I’ll bet that you’re
barely anything outside of here. But me, I’m God here, and you don’t want to mess with God.”
All she could do was to put on a strong face and let him know that he couldn’t destroy her.
But she still didn’t look at him.
He looked up at the ceiling and blew a ring of smoke towards the sky, an evil halo. Without
another word, the Warden walked out, leaving Rosalyn in the wake of her chilling new reality.
She couldn’t move. She was completely paralyzed by what had just happened. Tears began
to run across her cheeks.
This was her life, and again, somebody had just come in and taken all control from her. A
feeling of helplessness and hopelessness flooded Rosalyn’s entire body from below her shaking
knees all the way up to her welling eyes.
Rosalyn had to be strong she had to collect herself and go back to her cell. She bent down
and pulled her pants back up, and then she wiped her tears away before she walked back out to
the empty cafeteria.
The glowing sun outside of the window didn’t even faze Rosalyn. The joy it brought her not
ten minutes ago was eerily absent.
She walked quietly past the two guards at the exit of the dining hall, past two dozen locked
cells until she reached her own. Rosalyn just stood outside until a guard walked up, unlocked the
gate and let her in before slamming the heavy set of metal bars behind her.
Her overweight cellmate, Lisa, was already asleep.
What an illusion this place was. Cement walls and iron bar doors. Countless armed guards
posted at every corner in the building. This place had the facade of a fortress, but it wasn’t. It
didn’t protect her when she needed it.
Chapter 9
Rosalyn didn’t eat or speak to anybody for almost four days; she didn’t even leave her cell
until dinner of the fourth day, but eventually her stomach longed for food. Dinner was what it
had been for the past several weeks, meatloaf, beans and mashed potatoes.
She had almost inhaled the food, despite its almost intolerable taste. Shortly after Rosalyn
finished her meal, a bell rang in the dining hall, signaling the end of dinner. Rosalyn hurried to
the front of the mass of inmates that were all slowly moving towards the door.
Once back in her cell, she quickly went to sleep.
But even sleep wasn’t a safe place for her. A haunting nightmare terrorized her thoughts. It
was an exact replay of the events in the kitchen earlier in the week. The vivid images woke her
instantly.
Rosalyn didn’t know what time it was. It was still dark out, and it was silent except for the
occasional squeaking of somebody’s cot or a cough.
She couldn’t help but relive the rape in her mind, over and over. She began to feel a twist in
her stomach. She suddenly got dizzy.
 Rosalyn hurried to the toilet, throwing open the lid and emptying what seemed like the entire
contents of her torso. The warm taste of vomit and the acidic burning in her throat almost made
her gag again, but there wasn’t much left to throw up.
She thought back to when she had found out that her grandmother had passed away. She had
puked all over the kitchen floor.
It’s just my nerves. She told herself.
“You dyin’ down there?” Lisa mumbled from the top bunk in the cell.
“I’m alright.” Rosalyn replied.
“Just try to keep it down.”
Alright was pushing it. But she was surviving, and that’s really all she could do right now.
Chapter 10
It was only eight months later and Rosalyn was escorted from her cell by two guards. The
other inmates emerged to the cell doors and watched.
“About time you started making your way out.” One of the inmates cheered. Rosalyn
smiled.
Then another contraction hit her and she almost went down. The guards at either side of her
caught her before she hit the ground. When she came to a stop, drops of sweat were shaken from
her face and fell to the cement floor.
The guards practically lifted her. Her arms were around their shoulders and her feet were
dragging across the floor.
“HURRY!” she screamed. The guards started a careful jog to the prison’s medical area. The
doors opened automatically after one of the guards punched in a security code into a keypad by
the door.
On the other side of the double doors were several doctors waiting for her. They instantly
began asking her questions, but Rosalyn could hardly focus with the pain.
Childbirth was not one of the things she expected when she came to prison. But, just like
other things that had happened in the last two years, it was beyond her control.
Chapter 11
October 1983
“No, Thomas. Go put those back.” She only used his full name when she was scolding him.
The seven year old was trying to sneak a box of Lucky Charms the size of his chest into the
grocery cart.
“Mommy, I want them.” He whined desperately. “I want them, I want them, Iwant them.”
He pleaded with increasing volume as he shook the shopping cart. A woman who was looking at
packets of oatmeal halfway down the row looked over, causing Rosalyn to feel overwhelmingly
embarrassed.
Rosalyn grabbed one of his arms off of the metal frame and slapped the back of his hand
firmly. “Hush up. We’re in the store. Don’t talk to me like that. I’m your mother.” She never
blinked. She hated yelling at him; she loved him more than she could even believe; but she had
to be the mother and not the friend.
“Take them back.” Tom only stared at the ground with a grumpy face. “Hey!” she snapped.
“You look at me.” He made eye contact, but his face was still twisted into a face that resembled
a gargoyle. “Take. Them. Back.” She took the box out of the shopping cart and handed it hack
to him.
As he started to head back down the aisle, Rosalyn called, “And don’t you just put that back
and bring another box.” It was a trick he tried to pull several times when she had told him to put
thisbox back. The little con-artist tried to get away with just bringing another identical box upon
his return, but after all it wasn’t that box.
Rosalyn constantly had to choose her words carefully, knowing that he would try to find
some kind of loophole. She hated to admit it sometimes, but the little kid was smart.
When he returned empty handed, Rosalyn led them to get a few rotisserie chickens, cans of
string beans and other vegetables. Then they headed over to the far end of the grocery store to
buy a few microwaveable dinners.
As they walked through the aisle, goose bumps rose on Rosalyn’s bare forearms.
Rosalyn picked out a few cardboard boxes filled with premade mashed potatoes, meatloaf,
and green beans. She closed the frosted door and began down the aisle when she looked up and
her heart nearly stopped.
“Why don’t you run back and get those Lucky Charms. Okay, Thomas?” She said, turning
toward her son. The young boy jumped with excitement and began running down the aisle. He
looked like he had just eaten a can full of jumping beans the way he was running.
She looked back to the aisle. The Warden had seen her too. He was staring her directly in
the eyes, like a lion that had just spotted a gazelle.
Instantly, Rosalyn felt sweat appear on her forehead. The Warden walked closer. He was
wearing regular clothes, but he had on his pine green jacket with ‘Michael Diggory, Warden’
stitched onto the right breast. He was carrying a thirty of Bud Light by his side.
He had a boy standing next to him, not much older than Thomas. The Warden told him
something, and then began to walk towards her. The boy remained at the end of the aisle.
“Well, well, well.” He said calmly when he was only a few feet away. “Look who we have
here.”
“I’m not afraid of you anymore.” Rosalyn shot at him. No, fear wasn’t what she was feeling.
It was more like just shy of paralyzing terror.
“You should be.” He chuckled. “Got yourself a husband and a brat, huh?”
“Hardly.”She paused. “He’s your son.” The Warden let out an obnoxious laugh before he
cleared his throat.
“There’s no way any kid of mine would be a nigger.”
Just then Rosalyn looked and saw Tom run up to her side, carrying the massive box of cereal.
The Warden turned to the boy.
“Do me a favor and go grab me some hamburgers down there.” The Warden pointed down
the aisle.
“You’re not my dad. You can’t tell me what to do.” He snapped. As fresh and impolite as
that was, Rosalyn was so proud of her son in that moment.
“Fair enough.”The Warden said, surprised by the child’s attitude. Rosalyn calmed herself,
and fitted herself with a similar, witty attitude.
“Do what he said, Tom.” Tom looked confused for a moment, but then he did as he was told.
Once he was out of earshot, Rosalyn continued. “After all, you are his father.” The Warden’s
amused expression quickly dropped and was replaced with rage.
“You’d be wise to watch yourself around me. You’ve still got plenty to be afraid of.” Tom
returned, and without another word, the Warden snatched the package out of the boy’s hand and
went back to his son at the end of the aisle.
“That man’s mean.” Tom said. Rosalyn didn’t say anything. All she could do is go down on
her knees and give him the tightest embrace she could manage. She wiped the tears from her
eyes behind him, and then just squeezed tighter.
Chapter 12
 The thought that the Warden was still around had haunted her for too long, but Rosalyn had
been able to repress it. He told herself over and over again that she had been the only one. But
she knew that wasn’t true.
Her silence was allowing even more women to be violated by that monster. The Warden’s
words echoed in her mind. “If you tell anybody about this, I mean anybody, I will kill you.”
She walked into the police station and straight to the receptionist behind a glass window.
“How may I help you?” the perky woman asked.
“I need to report a rape.” The woman looked awkwardly shocked. Really, do you expect
people to report good deeds here at the police station?Rosalyn thought. The woman picked up a
phone off of its dock and pressed three numbers.
“Yes…I need you to come down and document a statement.” She stayed on the phone for
another few seconds and then hung up. “We’re having an officer come to help you.”
Rosalyn waited for a few minutes before a short man in a navy blue uniform walked through
the door of the lobby. The Irish officer almost looked like a leprechaun with his orange hair and
Irish blue eyes.
“Ma’am, if you would come with me.” He said. Rosalyn followed the officer through the
door and into a room filled with cubicles. They were nearly at the back of the room when he
turned into a cubicle.
She took a seat in front of a small oak desk, looking directly at the officer. He reached into a
file and pulled out a pale pink form and clicked a ballpoint pen.
“Now, what exactly can I help you with?” Rosalyn relived the incident in vivid detail, telling
everything to the officer. The officer scribbled furiously as she spoke, writing every word that
she said.
By the end, he could hardly believe what he had just heard. “Thank you Ms. Evans. We’ll
look into this. In the meantime, is there any medical attention that you need?”
Rosalyn shook her head ‘no’. “Thank you.” She said before walking back towards the lobby.
The officer watched the door close behind her before going to his rolodex and pulling out the
phone number of his old friend.
“Hello?” a voice on the phone answered.
“Hey, it’s me. I was just with a woman.” The officer said. “She was telling me some things
that you might be interested in.”

Chapter 13
Rosalyn got out of her car and picked up the two bags of groceries in the back seat, looking
forward to having the house to herself for a little bit before she had to pick up Tom from daycare.
She walked to the front door of her house and struggled with one hand to find the key that
would let her in. Surprisingly, she managed to unlock the door without dropping anything. Once
inside, she quickly turned the knob on the door to the horizontal locked position. She leaned on
the door, almost expecting to hear a sudden pounding coming from the other side. But Rosalyn
knew that she couldn’t allow her paranoia to dictate her behavior. The door was locked. She
was safe now.
Rosalyn walked to the kitchen and began unloading cans, eggs, bread, and other foods. She
unloaded a box of ice cream bars into the open freezer, but before she had a chance to close it,
she was being pulled backwards by her hair. A scream was silenced by a hand squeezing the
teeth.
“I told you not to tell anybody.” The Warden’s voice said angrily. “You broke your promise.
Now I’m keeping my promise.”
 Rosalyn felt the hand grasping her mouth tighten. She knew what was coming next, but
before she could even sigh or shed one tear, a quick and powerful twist snapped Rosalyn’s neck.
Her lifeless body fell gracelessly to the floor and the Warden silently walked away.
Chapter 14
October 1994
Tom was sitting in the back of his mother’s car, taking in another shouting argument. “How I
continue to put up with you is beyond me.” His mother, his step mother really, continued to
shout.
Tom had been caught with a stash of pot in his high school locker. The bitch principal had
suspended him for two weeks.
And now he had to deal with his foster mother and her husband. He’d been stuck with them
since his real mother’s murder.
He just sat in the passenger seat of his mother’s Saab, staring out of the window and
completely disregarding his mother.
They pulled into the driveway of their semi-suburban home and Tom got out and threw on
his headphones, hitting play on his cassette player. Tupac began to resonate into his ears.
He was only in his room for a few minutes when his foster mother stepped in. She said
something, but Tom refused to remove his headphones. She walked up to him and snatched
them off of his head.
“Hey!” Tom shouted at her.
“Watch it, Tom.” She was serious so Tom shut up. “Your father and I are going out tonight.
We’ll be back around ten o’clock.”
“Alright.” Tom replied.
“Get some homework done, just because you’re not going to school tomorrow doesn’t mean
you won’t be studying.” She paused “I love you, Tom.” She said as she walked towards the
doorway.
“Yeah.” Tom mumbled and his foster mother walked out the door and down the stairs.

It was 11:34, much later than Tom’s parents had promised to be back. Tom hadn’t noticed.
Instead he had been waiting anxiously for a call from his good friend Raul to see if he had gotten
any pot for Tom’s unexpected long weekend. The phone rang from Tom’s bedroom, so he lifted
himself off of the couch to answer before the call defaulted to the answering machine.
“Raul?” Tom answered, expecting to hear the voice of his friend.
“Excuse me?” an official sounding voice replied.
“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
“Is Thomas Evans there?” the voice asked.
“Yeah, I’m Tom.” He answered no idea who he was now speaking to.
“I’m Officer Raines with thePolice Department. There was a car crash involving your foster
parents.” Tom’s heart began beating faster. “I’m sorry, but they didn’t make it.” No words
escaped Tom’s mouth. What could he say? He loved his foster parents, even though he never
admitted it. Now he wished he had. There was silence on the line as the words sank in.
“Hello?” Officer Raines said, but Tom just hung up.
Tom promised himself something. He would get away from all of this shit. No more drugs,
no more trouble. He was too late to apologize to his foster parents, but he wouldn’t make that
mistake again.
 Tom picked up the phone again and dialed Raul’s number. It went straight to the answering
machine. Tom kept it simple, explaining that he didn’t want to live this life anymore. He said
nothing about his parents and nothing about where he was going to go.
Chapter 15
June 2008
Tom wearily stepped up the beige concrete stairs towards the apartment which he had been
sharing for the past eleven months with his girlfriend Marissa, the soon to be mother of his child,
and her three and a half year old son, Caleb.
It had been a tiring day at Home Depot where he worked. There had been three employees
out sick so instead of working in sales, which he preferred, Tom was stuck with the impossibly
dull task of unloading, literally, two and a half tons of lumber, birdseed, and other miscellaneous
stock from the storage room and a truck in the back of the store.
He had just opened the door when he heard someone say his name. “Thomas Evans?” Tom
turned around and saw a police officer approach him.
“Yes?” Tom answered. “Can I help you with something?” he asked, unsure as to why the
police would be interested in speaking with him.
The cop who was coming up the stairs was a thin but muscular man with slick blonde hair
brushed towards the back of his head.
“You are under arrest for the murder of Bhanu Sihgn. You have the right to remain silent.
Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
“Marissa!” Tom called into the open door.
“You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning.” The officer raised his
voice. “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand?”
“Marissa!” Tom shouted again, this time his girlfriend emerged onto the porch, screaming
when she saw Tom being pressed into the wall.
“Get your hands off of him!” she cried.
“Ma’am” the second officer interjected. “We need you to remain in your home for the time
being.”
“What’s going on, Tom?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Mr. Evans.” The blonde officer explained. “Is wanted for Murder”
Marissa didn’t know what to do. She thought about Caleb’s father, Marcus. He was another
nice guy until he tried to break into a jewelry store and make off with close to a million dollars
worth of gold, jewels, and money. That’s how he landed himself in prison. She didn’t know if
she could trust Tom, or if he was just the same.
The blonde officer cuffed Tom, and then continued to shove him into the back seat of the
police cruiser. He couldn’t believe what was happening. He wasn’t a killer.
The police car’s engine purred and the vehicle began to pull away from the house. He saw
Marissa crying, but there was nothing he could do. As much as he wanted to help her, he
couldn’t even help himself.
Chapter 16
The heavyset judge walked into the courtroom as the belief called “All rise.”
“Be seated.” The judge murmured as he sat in his seat. A small crowd of people on the left
side of the courtroom sat. On the right side, only Tom and his lawyer took their seats. There was
nobody sitting behind Tom, not even Marissa. He had hoped that she would come, but he
couldn’t blame her after what had happened with her Ex-boyfriend.
 “Thomas Evans. You are charged with the murder of Bhanu Sihgn. How do you plead?” the
judge asked.
“Not guilty.” Tom said truthfully. He wanted to look over to the other side of the court, but
he could feel the Indian family glaring at him hatefully.
And then there was the blonde officer standing in front of the entire family. He was focusing
on the judge and the lawyers as they made their opening statements.
After about an hour of back and forth between the lawyers and the judge, the judge spoke to
Tom.
“Mr. Evans, due to your extensive juvenile criminal record, you will be refused bail. You are
to return to court in two weeks time. Until then you will stay at Stafford County Prison.”
With one final bang of the judge’s gavel, the day was over. The family of the victim exited
out of the main exit, while Tom was escorted towards the front of the courtroom. He was lead to
the back of the building where a police car was waiting for him.
The cruiser drove him to the cold grey building where he would live for the next two weeks.
Only two weeks if he was lucky, much longer if he wasn’t.
Guards gave him a pine green one piece jumpsuit with an orange number on the breast and
across the shoulders on his back.
He was brought to an empty cell in a brand new wing of the prison. There was nobody else
in the entire wing. Tom spent two weeks locked there in complete silence. His only company
was his memories and the haunting thoughts as to why this was happening to him.
That was his only company until the thirteenth night when there was a slam as the door
closed and footsteps echoed through the cells.
Tom walked to the iron bars to see who was approaching. For a minute he couldn’t see
anything. There were only the footsteps, but then a man emerged into Tom’s vision.
It was the blond officer that had arrested him, the same one that was at his hearing. What
was he doing here? Tom thought.
“Well, well, well.” The officer said calmly when he was only a few feet away. “Look who
we have here.”
Chapter 17
“Hey man, I didn’t kill anybody.” Tom pleaded. “Who accused me of murder?”
“Why, I did. You’re here because of me.”
“I didn’t kill that man. I’ve never hurt anybody.”
“I know you didn’t kill him.” The officer laughed. “I did.” Tom couldn’t believe what he
had just heard. The police officer had murdered someone. Why? What was going on? Tom’s
mind was being torn into a billion different directions simultaneously. “I’m the one who pumped
four shots into that old man’s chest.”
“What the hell?” he shouted.
“It was simple really. All I had to do was wait for someone who looked like you to walk into
that Gandhi-mart and then I went in and shot that Indian feller. The guy ran out and I chased
after him, made it look like he did it. At least that’s the way it looks from my cruiser’s camera.
Broke into your house and got some of your prints, told the CSI I dusted them right after you ran
away. Don’t worry, another Gandhi’ll fly in next week and take over.”
“You’re crazy! What the hell is your problem man? Why are you doing this to me?” There
were no words to describe what Tom was feeling. Panic, fear, frustration, rage, they all seemed
so miniscule to Tom.
“Your bitch mother ruined my family!”
“My mother was killed years ago.”
 “And it was my father who broke her little neck.” Tom stood in silence, unable to process
the magnitude of what was happening. “She accused my father of raping her. My mother left us
because of that bitch’s lies. My father died a week weeks after she left.” Tom could tell that the
officer was trying to stay angry, but his voice was cracking, and Tom knew that this must have
been eating at him for a long, long time.
“You’re the warden’s kid.”
“That’s right. Ian Diggory, at your service.”
“Then you should know that my mother wasn’t lying. The warden’s my father. That makes
us brothers.” The next thing Tom saw was the barrel of the officer’s gun, a Glock17. Tom
stumbled back, tripping onto his cot.
“There’s no way I’m related to some nigger!” Officer Ian Diggorysmiled menacingly. There
was no reason for him to believe that it was even a possibility. Tom had inherited many of his
mother’s traits and it would be unlikely that he would have a white father. “You can fight this
case all you want, but it’s no use. That lawyer of yours won’t do shit to help you. You’re going
to rot for this.” Diggory’sfootsteps echoed through the cold, empty prison until there was a loud
bang as the door closed, and then nothing. Tom was alone with his thought, his haunting
nightmare that was a perfect reality.
Chapter 18
The next afternoon, two large guards brought Tom from his cage to another police car. They
began to head back to the courthouse. It was on the way there that Tom made a decision. He
was going to take control of his life, not just let his life control him. He was caged, like an
animal, just the way Diggorywanted. But one thing Diggoryforgot one thing. Cornered animals
lash out. Fight or flight. Survival.
The car pulled into the back of the courthouse. The officers got out and came around to the
left side of the back seat and opened the door.
Tom emerged and began to follow one of the officers inside. The other was following Tom.
It was now that he had to make his move.
Tom spun around and kicked the second officer hard in the chest. The man let out a loud
moan and fell backwards, hitting his head on the cruiser’s back wheel.
The first officer turned, but before he could pull his gun, Tom put his arms around the man’s
neck, using the handcuffs to keep him from moving. He swung the officer’s head into the
cruiser’s window, which cracked, but didn’t break apart.
The other officer, who was still sitting, had now drawn his gun and was moving to take aim,
but Tom kicked the gun away, and then kicked the officer in the chest again.
Tom kicked him in the chest again. His head banged against the wheel again. The collision
made a deep metallic thud.
Tom rapidly checked the pockets of the unconscious officers, finally discovering the keys to
his handcuffs. After freeing himself, he dashed down the street, hurrying past businessmen and
women, even a few hot dog stands.
This is what’s great about the city. Everyone is too absorbed in their own business to realize
that a man in a prison uniform just ran by. Tom thought.
He continued to sprint down the busy street for another quarter mile until he came to
Rowling Park, a three square mile park filled with trees and paths, excellent for making a quick
escape.
He dashed into the woods, knowing precisely where he was going, knowing every last turn
he had to take, even once he was free from the trees. It was almost like he was already
programmed to know how to escape.
Chapter 19
Ian Diggorysat in the court, looking anxiously at his Rolex wristwatch. The officers were
running late, and Diggory wanted to get this guy locked up as soon as possible.
The time seemed to pass so slowly, but yet, this entire experience had gone by so fast for
him. It was like reading a good book, wanting to get to the end, but wanting the story to
continue at the same time. It was in this moment that Diggory got his wish.
A police officer burst into the courtroom near where the bailiff was standing. Everyone
gasped and a few people stood. The officer had a river of blood coming from his nose.
“He’s escaped.” The officer gasped. “I already radioed the station. He attacked me and
Officer Reilly then took off. Reilly’s already after him.”
“GOD Damn it!” Diggoryshouted before he shot out of his seat and ran straight out of the
courtroom. He jumped into his cruiser that was parked outside and tore down the street. After a
few honks and slow drivers he threw on the siren and lights.
If Evans was going where he thought he was, Diggorywould still be able to apprehend him.
If worse came to…well, better, he might even get to shoot the bastard. Now that would be a
great ending to a great story.
Diggory got onto the highway and circled around to the back of Rowling Park at the only
path out on this side of the city.
The car was soaring across the pavement, dangerously fast. Diggorybegan wondering if all
of this was worth it. If he was going to get himself killed chasing nothing.
His father’s face jumped into his mind, clinging to every bit of consciousness. He thought
about how his father had been so broken the night he died. He knew it was Rosalyn Evan’s fault.
Her lies killed his father. That nigger’s life wasn’t worth his fathers. There was still a price to
pay, and Evans was the only one who could pay it.
Ian’s eyes welled as the image of his father lingered in his thoughts. His knuckles whitened
as he squeezed the steering wheel. His entire body was rigid. Ian could almost hear his father’s
voice telling him to be strong. And that’s what he was going to be.
He parked the cruiser on the side of the rode and took his Glockfrom the locked glove
compartment. He shot into the woods, hoping he was right.
Praying and Preying.
He searched the woods surrounding the path, almost giving up hope. It was getting dark, and
his chance of finding Evans was astronomical, even if he was in this park, which was just a
hopeful guess anyway.
Then he heard something in the woods. The sound of crunching leaves, too rapid to just be a
squirrel. Footsteps? There were a lot of runners in these woods, but Diggory didn’t want to let
go of his hope just yet.
That’s when he saw him, still wearing his green prison uniform. Evans didn’t even see
Diggory. He was just jogging about thirty feet off of the path. This is perfect. Diggory thought.
He retreated down the path, then when he was close enough he went straight after Evans. He
lifted his gun while still running and took aim. Just before he pulled the trigger, a tree root
grabbed his ankle, and the bullet soared into a tall oak tree.
The shot immediately alerted Evans that he was there. This wasn’t the way it was supposed
to go.
But there was still a chance of catching him. Evans was tired, and maybe he could catch up.
Diggorypushed off of the root like an Olympic sprinter rising from the blocks. Diggorywas
quickly able to catch up with Evans. Diggorytackled him into a tree, wrestling around, unable to
point his gun at Evans from such a close position. Instead he punched him, then again, over and
over until his big black nose was covered in blood.
 Then he saw Evan’s arm swing around and felt an unbelievably sharp pain at the base of his
neck. He rolled off of Evans and pressed his free hand against his wound. He could feel warm
blood trickling down his shirt, and realized that he wouldn’t be able to continue the chase for
much longer. He needed to get to the hospital.
He tried to raise his gun for one last shot, but his shoulder was too weak to lift his arm.
Within a few seconds Diggory’s prey had disappeared.
Chapter 20
Tom raced out of the woods, emerging onto a street. He looked down at the bottom half of
the broken beer bottle that he had stabbed Diggorywith. It still had some of his blood in it. It
was disgusting.
Tom almost threw the glass to the ground, but then he had a realization. In his hand was the
thing that would save his life.
But now he had to run, there wasn’t any time for planning. He just knew there might be one
safe place he could go, and he had to get there fast.
He ran a few more blocks until he reached the highway, crossing under it, and then taking a
left. The rout was almost instinct.
Tom was so focused on where he was going that he didn’t even realize that he had passed the
home where he and his foster parents once lived.
He kept running, his heart was pounding, sweat dripped from his face, his breaths were heavy
and dry, but he was close. Finally, Tom reached his destination, an old two family house that
should have been demolished years ago, but for now it was a safe haven.
Tom stopped at the front door on the left half of the house. Several seconds later a tall
Hispanic man arrived behind in the doorway. He was wearing a white t-shirt and same black
jeans. His hair was done in corn rolls that went to the back of his neck.
“Yeah?” the man answered. Tom remained silent. The man’s eyes widened suddenly.
“Tom?”
“Yeah man, it’s me.” Tom said as Raul walked up and gave Tom a hug.
“God, I haven’t seen you since-“
“May 29, 1994.” Tom cut him off.
“Wow, God. So, how’ve you been?”
“Not great, actually. Mind if I come in?” Raul stepped back and noticed the prison uniform
that Tom was wearing.
“Yeah man, of course.” Raul said in a very serious tone. Tom followed his old friend back
into the dimly lit house. He sat on a couch that he remembered from his youth, not much else
had changed either, except Raul. He was a man now. It was strange to think that he hadn’t seen
him in fourteen years. It really was a different life that he had lead.
Over the next hour Tom filled Raul in on all of the details of the events, beginning all the
way with his mother. He explained that he needed a place to stay for a little while until things
cooled down and Tom could figure out his next move.
Raul agreed under only one condition.
“You owed me thirty five dollars when you left. I want that with interest.” They both
laughed. It was good to have something to laugh about.
After a quick meal, Tom went onto Raul’s computer, an ancient piece of crap, but it worked.
He went to Google.com and searched for any local forensic scientist.
After a few dead end websites, Tom found his answer. Dr. Shane Silverstein, a man who
recently cracked several cold cases. Tom thought this might be someone who could help him.
But he had to do something else first.
Chapter 21
Marissa sat on end of her living from couch flipping through channels on the television,
trying to find something that could distract her from all of the chaos that had filled her life for the
past month.
Caleb was already in bed, fast asleep, so Marissa had most of the house to herself.
She happened upon an ancient Seinfeld rerun, and a new episode of the medical comedy
Scrubs, but her mood hardly called for a barrel of laughs.
Maybe a romance, or one of those movies based on true stories, like ‘Freedom Writers’ with
Hilary Swank. She finally gave herself two minutes to find something or she would just stay on
whatever program she landed on.
However it didn’t nearly take that long before Marissa found something that grabbed her
attention.
It was the last thing in the world that she wanted to be watching at this moment, but
something inside her compelled her to set down the remote control and watch.
Tom’s face looked directly at her from a box on the side of the screen besides a live news
anchor.
“Police are still searching for the suspected murderer who escaped police custody almost two
weeks ago while being transported from holding to his trial.”
The anchors face faded away to a navy blue screen where a physical description was being
displayed in a series of white bullet points.
“Thomas Evans is six foot two.” The anchor’s disembodied voice continued. “Roughly one
hundred ninety pounds. Described as muscular. The sheriff's department is warning citizens that
Evans is very dangerous and may have possession of a firearm.
“Police are following leads, including family and close friends. If you have any information,
call your local Police station.” He finished.
What a load of crap. Marissa thought to herself. She knew for a fact that his family was
either dead or was never in the picture. She had seen the gravestones of both Tom’s mother and
his foster parents who had all been taken before Tom had turned eighteen. She knew that the
police were feeding the news this stuff to ensure that the public still had faith in the law
enforcement.
A female newscaster gave a brief preview of coming stories before cutting to commercial.
Marissa decided that no matter what she did, nothing could kidnap her from the thoughts of the
man she once thought she knew. The man she thought she once loved.
She walked into the kitchen and looked into the refrigerator. By the microwave clock it was
already half past eleven. This late a cold beer wouldn’t have time to numb any of her sorrows.
Not that that was even an option, now that she had to care for another life inside of her. Instead,
she poured herself a glass of iced tea from a pitcher she kept.
As she sipped the cool beverage, she gazed out of the window above the sink that looked out
to the back yard. The stars looked unusually bright tonight. Her gaze refocused on the glass
when she noticed the dark reflection of someone else in the room with her.
The glass of iced tea slipped out of her hand, almost instantly splintering in the sink, while
the rest of her body crumpled, muscles tightening out of terror and shock.
Marissa stumbled around to face the intruder. Even with the lights out she instantly knew
who was standing before her.
Tom.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He said softly. He reached to his side and flicked on the lights.
“GET…OUT!” Marissa wheezed, still half-choking from her last sip of iced tea.
“Just hear me out.” Tom requested.
 “Get out!” she shouted again.
“Look Rissa, I didn’t do what these people are saying I did.” He stayed on the far side of the
room, but gazed gently at her, as if she were in his arms.
Marissa walked over to the back door and put her hand on the doorknob and began to turn.
She subtly set her other hand on the ADT alarm key pad, pressing the ‘ARM’ button before
opening the door. The alarm silently tripped, hopefully alerting the police, and hopefully going
unnoticed by Tom.
“I’m not going to say it again.” She insisted pointing out the door.
“Good! Maybe now you can listen to me.” There was a new anger in his voice that
frightened Marissa. “I was set up. I had nothing to do with that killing.”
“Then tell me what did happen.” She pried, wishing she could believe him. But she couldn’t.
Not after what she had gone through with Marcus. “You bought me those diamonds. You and I
both know you can’t afford things like that. Where did the money come from?”
“I got a promotion. Call the office, they’ll tell you. The rest is a long story.”
“I’ve got time.” She said, trying to call his bluff, but also trying to keep him in the house
until the police made their appearance.
“I know you’ve got time, but I don’t.” Tom reached up and pressed the ‘DISARM’ button on
the keypad.
Then he walked towards her. She quickly went for a knife on the counter, but Tom caught
her hand. He held her palm, squeezing in just enough to keep a grip on it. Tom felt so guilty
when he saw the fear in her eyes, knowing that he put it there.
But more than fear there was Marissa’s famous stubbornness. And bravery, something that
he knew Marcus had been responsible for.
“I love you Rissa. I know you don’t believe me, but I do.” He put his hand on her belly
which had grown significantly since he had last seen her. “I’m going to be back to raise these
kids with you.” Tom pushed open the screen door that went into the back yard. “I promise.”
The screen door made a cracking sound that seemed to fill the whole room, then
disappearing, leaving only Marissa. She couldn’t believe what had just happened, but part of her
started to believe in Tom.
Chapter 22
So, maybe one bridge was on fire. There would be time to put it out and fix his relationship
with Marissa. But there was a much more urgent matter at hand.
That’s why Tom was racing down the highway, pushing eighty five in a sixty mile per hour
zone. A good way to get an escaped prisoner caught. But he was nearly there anyway.
He pulled into the Silverstein’s driveway. Their house was absolutely massive. It was a
three story brick mansion that overlooked a beach back yard with a view of the setting sun every
night.
This guy must be good at what he does. Tom though. Of course the fact that he’s married to
an heiress probably doesn’t hurt.
It was dawn, and the sky was still pale blue. The entire neighborhood was silent. Luckily,
Silverstein claimed to be a ‘Morning person’ in one of the articles that Tom read. He might be
awake.
Tom knocked on the front door and waited, holding onto the gun that Raul had lent him. It
took a minute but eventually, a small man opened the door. He was balding and rather pathetic
looking. He looked like he should be a scientist.
“Yes?” he said impatiently.
“I was wondering if you might be able to do me a favor.” Tom requested politely.
 “I’m sorry, it’s my day off.” As he was about to close the door Tom wedged the barrel into
the crack. The door opened again. Apparently Silverstein didn’t see the gun because he was
shocked when it was pointed at him.
“Whatever you want, j-just take it.” Silverstein stuttered. His hands were in the air and he
had his eyes firmly closed. Tom glanced inside, seeing the large spiraling staircase and a large
crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The walls were decorated with elegant artwork and
several sculptures on miniature Roman columns. This guy has it made. Tom thought.
“I said I wanted a favor, not money.” Tom repeated.
The drive to Dr. Silverstein’s empty lab was very awkward and dead silent. Dr Silverstein
was sweating profusely, taking out his handkerchief every couple minutes to wipe off his
forehead. Unfortunately, nothing could be done to hide the sweat stains on his shirt growing
more visible with each passing minute. Once the two men reached the lab Tom gave him Officer
Diggory’s blood and a sample of his own blood that he took right there in the lab.
“Compare these. I want to know if there is any relationship between these two blood
samples. If there is I want a formal printout of the results. Silverstein stared at the blood cells
under the microscope for hours, putting them in different machines and running tests.
“I-It appears that both samples share a common parent: a father.” The nervous doctor
managed, handing over the papers with the results.
“Perfect. Thank you.”
Chapter 23
After Tom returned to Raul’s house, he sent a copy of the lab results to the Police Station and
another to Diggory’shome. Now that he had taken his turn, all he could do is see who would end
up in check mate.
He didn’t leave Raul’s house for two weeks. He didn’t even go out on the front porch, or
stand near any windows. Sure, if the police suspected that Raul was holding Tom, they would
have busted into the house days ago, but the news stations hadn’t stopped flashing his picture on
television, and Tom wasn’t going to throw away what safety he had.
Raul never minded Tom’s presence, but Tom knew that he couldn’t stay much longer.
Tom was eating in the kitchen when Raul called him. “Tom, Get out here, PRONTO!”
Raul was watching the news on, but instead of another story about the escaped murderer, a
new story was taking its place.
“Officer Ian Diggorywas found dead in his New Orleans home last night.” The reporter
stated gravely. “It is now being called a suicide, but reports are still coming in. It is unclear if
the fugitive, Thomas Evans, who escaped from police custody last week, is at all related.” The
camera cut to another man, Caucasian and slightly overweight. The caption read: Captain John
Messler, New Orleans Police Chief.
“At this time we do not believe that Thomas Evans had anything to do with the death of
Officer Diggory. However in the case of Mr. Evans, new evidence has arisen in the case. We
ask that Mr. Evans come to police.” Tom turned off the television.

It was the moment of truth. He got out of the passenger side of Raul’s car, giving him a
handshake before he walked inside. He walked to the front desk and asked for Captain Messler.
“Yes sir.” The man said nervously, obviously recognizing Tom.
The Captain walked out, surprised to see Tom. They went into a back room, usually used for
interrogation. Messlersilently passed over manila folder. Inside was a single piece of lined
paper with a handwritten note from Officer Diggory.
In the letter it gave a full confession of what Diggoryhad done. Tom read the suicide note a
second time. It was the final line that made Tom laugh. “I am not related to a nigger.”
 It wasn’t funny that he had killed himself. Far from it. What was funny is that, through all of
this, all of the trouble that Diggory went through, it was the same racism and hate that drove him
to do those things that ended up being the feelings that drove him to suicide.
“His wife didn’t care about him once she found out what he had done, but his son took it
pretty hard.” Captain Messlersaid once Tom had returned the letter to the table. “You’ll be glad
to know that everyone in law enforcement in this city is completely sympathetic to your
situation. Even the two officers you blooded up at the courthouse.” He chuckled. Tom laughed
too.
It was finally over. He had won.
Check mate.
Game over.
Epilogue
Tom walked up the same stairs that he had when this nightmare began a month ago. He went
and got himself a suit and tie and ‘looked like a million bucks’ or so said the man who sold him
the suit.
In his hand were two dozen red roses. He raised his arm to press the doorbell, but couldn’t
bring himself to do it. There was still a lot that needed explaining, and what if Marissa didn’t
take him back.
Well, what if she didn’t? He could live on his own for a while, not that he wanted to do that.
What did he have to lose? The only way he could ever know is if he pressed that glowing orange
button.
He raised his arm again and this time he pressed the button. Moments later Marissa came to
the door. She stood speechless. Tom was unsure if she was still afraid, if she still thought he was
a murderer. She opened the door and stepped into the light, tears in her eyes. Then she threw
herself at Tom, giving him the tightest hug she could give.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you.” She cried. Tom let go of her and looked gently into her
eyes.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.”
He looked down at Marissa’s pregnant belly and thought about all of the times that he and his
future son or daughter would have that he never had a chance to have with his mother. He had
already helped Marissa to raise Caleb, and was happy to be the little boy’s father.
Then something the Police Captain said entered his thoughts “…his son took it pretty hard.”
“Let’s get out of here.” Tom whispered. “Get out of this city, this state. Let’s go somewhere
where we can be away from everything.”